Snaps and Chats and Heart Attacks
by asphaltcowgrrl
Summary: Violet accidentally sends something she shouldn't have while Snapchatting with her Papa (Travis). Part 8 of the Flowers in the Garden series.


"Mama," Violet asked, bringing Wes his phone, "can I talk to Papa?"

Distracted, Wes looked at her, trying to understand what she meant. "Papa's working, Vi. You'll have to wait until he gets home." He dug into the plastic bag from the drugstore and sighed. _Not again_.

"No," she shoved the phone at him. "Like you. I type."

_Oh_. "You want to text Papa?" That was okay. Travis could respond when he was able and Violet wouldn't disturb him.

"Yeah. Text. With pictures." She mimed taking a selfie.

_What has Travis taught this kid?_ Taking his phone out of her hand, he opened up the texting app and showed her how to use it. He prayed that she didn't inadvertently send inappropriate texts to someone other than her father. Not that he really wanted Travis getting inappropriate texts from his daughter, but you picked your battles.

The only benefit to her using Snapchat was that he had exactly one contact – Travis. Which considerably lessened the accidental texts to other people. Not that he believed she couldn't figure it out and send to random strangers but again, you picked your battles. "Where's your sister?"

"Dere," she said, pointing with one hand, eyes firmly fixed on the phone. She snapped a picture of her feet and sent it immediately.

He looked past his three-year-old and spied their eighteen month old hanging onto the couch, looking lost. "Bri, you okay baby?"

"Yah," she confirmed with a head bob.

"Great," he muttered, glancing at the evil plastic bag one more time. "Mama needs to use the potty, Vi. You behave."

"Wait. I come with Mama." She toddled towards him, still taking photos.

He wondered idly what kinds of things Travis was receiving on the other end. No doubt, he'd get a full visual later. "Violet, can't I pee in peace, just once?"

"No," Bryony stated with more authority than a kid her age should possess.

And why didn't that response surprise him?

Wes looked from his daughters to the plastic bag sitting ominously on the kitchen counter. As much as he hated having an audience every time he needed to take a leak, at least he didn't have to wonder what Violet was getting into while he was relieving himself either. It always came down to the lesser of two evils and ever since that time he'd locked her out and she'd tried to microwave her teddy bear, he'd let her join him. As uncomfortable as that was. Today was different, though. He wasn't just using the facilities, he was trying to set his mind at ease.

God, he was in such a mess.

"Come on, Vi," he said, holding the bathroom door open for her. Looking to his other kid, he asked, "You coming too, Bri?"

"Yah," she replied, running as fast as her unsteady, chubby little legs could take her.

As soon as Bryony and Violet were safely on the inside of the door, he shut it and locked it out of habit. "One rule, Violet, you listening?" Seeing her nod and actually make eye contact, he continued. "No taking pictures of Mama peeing, got it?"

"Oh-kaaaay," she sighed, in perfect imitation of her other father.

Setting the bag down on the counter, Wes pulled the box out and tipped it over, reading the directions. They hadn't changed since the last time he'd done this, but he wanted to make absolutely sure. No heart attacks for no reason. Tearing the box, he pulled out the pregnancy test and sighed, heart weary from all the stress, worry, and lying he'd been doing lately.

"It's now or never, Mitchell," he said to the stick.

"Yeah, Mitchell," Violet griped, "get a move on."

Even knowing she was only repeating something she'd heard Marks say a million times, he still had to remind himself not to snap at her. She was three, she was bound to be mouthy. That she was half Travis' child only made the mouthy part more inevitable. Deciding to ignore her little quip, he unbuckled his belt and opened his pants.

"Ewwwwwwwwwwwwww" Bryony moaned, seeing him standing before the toilet, prepared to do his business.

"Look, I told you what I was going to do, and yet you insisted on joining me. Keep the commentary to yourself."

Turning back to the reason he'd come in here, he took a deep breath and peed on the stick. Once finished, he set it on the back of the toilet, flushed, and washed his hands. He had a sudden pang of sympathy for Dakota – she'd recently told him of her own imminent pregnancy – because maneuvering the damn stick while having to squat had to take more coordination that he possessed.

Now came the hard part. The three-minute wait in hell.

"Okay you two, out," he said, ushering the kids into the living room.

Setting the timer on the microwave for exactly three minutes, he tried to distract himself by starting the dishes that had managed to pile up in the sink, although he swore he'd washed them earlier. It seemed like the reproduced on their own when he wasn't watching.

xx

_Three Minutes Later_

The timer on the microwave beeped, alerting him to his imminent doom in the restroom. Taking stock of where both children were currently – Violet had abandoned Snapchat and sat in front of the TV, playing with a doll and Bryony was sleeping on the couch – he snuck into the bathroom and glanced at the stick.

Wes wasn't sure what he was expecting, but he certainly hadn't predicted the sadness that filled him at the sight of the single pink line. Despite his promise to never keep something like this from Travis, he was thankful that he hadn't said anything about his suspicions. He'd have been more let down than Wes was, and he wasn't sure he could stomach the disappointment in his husband's eyes.

Putting the test into the box, he wrapped it in the plastic bag and took it into the garage, burying it beneath the remnants of last night's dinner. Hoping for some relief from this odd melancholy, he returned to the kitchen and finished the dishes, waiting for Travis to come hold him.

xx

_Two hours later_

Wes' head jerked up at the sound of the landline ringing. It took him a moment to figure out what the sound even was, so rarely it actually rang. Grabbing the cordless, he thumbed it on. "Hello?"

"Goddamn you, Wes. What the hell?" Travis' voice wasn't quite angry, but he was distressed.

"Travis? What's going on?" He switched the phone to his other ear, continuing to wipe the counter down with his free hand. "Why didn't you call my cell?"

"I tried, but you didn't answer." Now, he sounded angry.

"I –" Realization dawned on him. "I'm sorry, Travis. Violet was Snapchatting with you and I don't remember her actually giving me my phone back. I got distracted doing the dishes and completely forgot."

"Doing the dishes," he snorted. "Right."

Okay, so what the actual hell was going on here? "Trav, why are you angry with me? I haven't done anything –"

"No," Travis repeated. "You haven't done anything, have you? Just texted me a picture and then stopped answering your phone."

"Wait, I haven't texted you anything, Violet –" He waved a hand in the air, making his point to no one.

"Wes, you can't just Snapchat me a picture of a pregnancy test and then not answer your phone. Are you trying to kill me or what?"

_Oh no, no, no…_

"Travis, wait, please," he begged, heart pounding in fear. "I didn't want to say anything until I knew for sure. Violet must have…"

"Stop." His words were less angry now, although he could still hear the hurt filling them. "Just tell me: yes or no."

"Travis, no, I'm sorry but –" _But nothing_, he scolded himself. _How could you let Violet get a picture of that anyway? _

A downtrodden sigh filled the line between them. "You're sure?"

"Well, according to the test it's negative. But…"

"But?" He perked up a bit at that.

"But," Wes said, kicking a stuffed toy out of his way, "my body is telling me the complete opposite."

"Do you think…?"

"Don't get your hopes up, Marks." Wes' heart lifted at the sound of hope in Travis' voice. "I'll make an appointment with the doctor tomorrow."

"Promise?"

"I promise." He stopped pacing and leaned against the counter. "And I'm sorry. The girls insisted on joining me."

Travis interrupted with a laugh. "It was a group event? Now that's the best thing I've heard all day."

"Yeah, you'd think so," Wes grouched. "Next time you have to pee, I'll make sure they all join you."

"Thanks," Travis spluttered, "but I think I'll pass."

Wes smiled for the first time all afternoon. "I figured as much. But they both had to join me, and Vi was Snapchatting with you and she must've taken a shot when I wasn't looking. I'd never want you to find out that way."

"Well, now that I've had my heart kickstarted, I had better go back to work," he said, sounding sad again. "But we'll talk when I get home."

He'd figured as much. "Hurry home."

"Will do." He paused for a second and then spoke again. "Oh, and if Vi was in the bathroom with you, why'd she take a picture of the test stick and not something more interesting?"

The lewdness in Travis' voice raised a blush under his skin. Rubbing his forehead, he laughed. "Because I explicitly told her no pictures of me peeing."

"You're such a wet blanket, Mitchell," Travis teased.

"Yeah, well, I'd love to hear what child protective services would make of that one," he joked back. "Besides, don't you have enough racy pictures of me on that phone of yours?"

"Baby, I can't ever have enough racy photos of you," he assured him. "Maybe we can take more when I get home?"

Wes grinned. "If you ever manage to get home, maybe we can discuss it."

"From your lips," he said. "See you in an hour."

Wes hung up the phone and went in search of his daughter. Finding her conked out on the floor, doll leg clutched to her chest, he shook his head. It was obvious that his lecture on what could and could not be sent in a Snapchat to her father was going to have to wait until another day. Oddly enough, her little mishap had had a good result – he felt much less unhappy now that Travis knew, even if the answer wasn't what he'd wanted.

Maybe it was knowing that Travis wasn't going to leave him over this, or maybe it was because he knew it would only encourage Marks to redouble his efforts in the baby making department. Whatever it was, not carrying that secret was a relief. Collapsing onto the couch, he ran his fingers through Bryony's hair and sighed. He must be crazy, but what could one more baby hurt?


End file.
